Quotes About Competition

odies al jugador; odia el juego.

The point of advertising is to destroy markets.

What's the point of being better than someone else?

The Republicans have moved so far toward a dedication to the wealthy and the corporate sector that they can-not hope to get votes on their actual programs, and have turned to mobilizing sectors of the population that have always been there, but not as an organized coalitional political force: evangelicals, nativists, racists, and the victims of the forms of globalization designed to set working people around the world in competition with one another while protecting the privileged.

It [predatory capitalism] is incapable of meeting human needs that can be expressed only in collective terms, and its concept of competitive man who seeks only to maximize wealth and power, who subjects himself to market relationships, to exploitation and external authority, is antihuman and intolerable in the deepest sense.

In fact, what are called international "free trade agreements" are not free trade at all. The trade system was reconstructed with a very explicit design of putting working people in competition with one another all over the world.

appeal to non-business interests) and let them be effective. Although there is marked and frequently observed dissatisfaction with the Republicans and Democrats, electoral politics is one area where notions of competition and free choice have little meaning.

MARIE    I'm saying that the right man for you might be out there right now and if you don't grab him, someone else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that someone else is married to your husband.

Writers are cannibals. They really are. They are predators, and if you are friends with them, and if you say anything funny at dinner, or if anything good happens to you, you are in big trouble.

It looks like Armani and Cartier went to war.

It was bad enough to be swallowed up by the intrinsic anger of New York City traffic and its seemingly mad competition between cars, cabs, the ubiquitous delivery trucks, the kamikaze bike messengers and the always-in-a-damn hurry pedestrians.

A scan of the walls had the grin turning to a wince. Blue ribbons, medals, awards were all neatly framed and displayed.There were photographs of her in formal riding gear flying over jumps, smiling from the back of a horse or standing with her cheek pressed to her mount's neck. And in a thick frame was an Olympic medal. A silver. Well hell.We'll make that two portions of crow, he murmured.

Even now, the Lincoln was less than a half block behind. "Dammit. They just won't shake lose." "Oh yeah?" Whitney set her teeth and gave the mirror a quick check. She'd never been a gracious loser. "Watch this." Before Doug could draw a breath, she whipped the Mercedes around in a tight U-turn and headed dead-on for the Lincoln. He watched with a kind of fascinated dread. "Oh my God.

I know it. Just as I know if you made it a choice between you and me, I wouldn't stand a chance.

I was second-runner-up Miss Tennessee!" Shelby glanced back, smiled at Melody, who stood, hands on hips, at the top of the stairs. "Bless your heart," she said, and continued down, and straight out. She

I came up with a new game-show idea recently. It's called The Old Game. You got three old guys with loaded guns onstage. They look back at their lives, see who they were, what they accomplished, how close they came to realizing their dreams. The winner is the one who doesn't blow his brains out. He gets a refrigerator.

Mostly, we argued about who which of us was better at arguing, and particularly about who had won the previous argument.

And when they finally demanded that I had to stop keeping score and that I needed to play every future contest as an exhibition, I casually made the kind of statement sixteen-year-olds should not make to forty-six-year-old Midwestern housewives: "Why are you telling me how to do my job?" I asked. "It's not like I show up in your kitchen and tell you when to bake cookies.

American football] fanbase resemble that of contemporary boxing: rich people watching poor people play a game they would never play themselves.

Sampson wanted to be "a seven-foot-four guard." He was too pretty to be a soldier. Against the profoundly overmatched Chaminade, he took just nine shots and let his unbeatable team lose to a bunch of beach bum nobodies. He was the greatest, but he wasn't that great.

Game shows are designed to make us feel better about the random, useless facts that are all we have left of our education.

You turn up your music to hide the noise. Other people turn up their music to hide yours. You turn up yours again. Everyone buy s a bigger stereo system. This is the arms race of sound. You don't win with a lot of treble.

I know that when a supersexy older girl with hips and breasts and nice hair wants to take off your glasses and to paint you a smoky eye she's merely trying to enroll you in a beauty contest she's already won. It's a kind of slummy, condescending gesture, like when rich people ask poor people where they summer. To me, this smacks of a blatant, insensitive let them eat cake type of chauvinism.

The only biodiversity we're going to have left is Coke versus Pepsi. We're landscaping the whole world one stupid mistake at a time.